said: “Bring him to No.— Broadway, at four o’clock to-morrow afternoon.”
In due time Kelley called at the Hotel Español for the General. He found that wily warrior engaged in delectable conversation with Mrs. O’Brien.
“The Secretary of War is waitin’ for us,” said Kelley.
The General tore himself away with an effort.
“Ay, se˜or,” he said, with a sigh, “duty makes a call. But, señor, the señoras of your Estados Unidos—how beauties! For exemplification, take you la Madame O’Brien—que magnifica! She is one goddess—one Juno—what you call one ox-eyed Juno.”
Now Mr. Kelley was a wit; and better men have been shriveled by the fire of their own imagination.
“Sure!” he said with a grin; “but you mean a peroxide Juno, don’t you?”
Mrs. O’Brien heard, and lifted an auriferous head. Her businesslike eye rested for an instant upon the disappearing form of Mr. Kelley. Except in street cars one should never be unnecessarily rude to a lady.
When the gallant Colombian and his escort arrived at the Broadway address, they were held in an anteroom for half an hour, and then admitted into a well-equipped office where a distinguished looking man, with a smooth face, wrote at a desk. General Falcon was presented to the Secretary of War of the United States, and his mission made known by his old friend, Mr. Kelley.
